


don’t wait for the sun (your damage is now)

by tentaclemonster



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Background Relationships, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Epistolary, F/F, Genderswap, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation Kink, POV First Person, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22126282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentaclemonster/pseuds/tentaclemonster
Summary: An excerpt from Jane Harker’s journal regarding events which transpired while in the captivity of Countess Dracula.
Relationships: Count Dracula/Jonathan Harker
Kudos: 236





	don’t wait for the sun (your damage is now)

**Author's Note:**

> In case the tags on this aren’t perfectly clear, this fic includes graphic descriptions of menstruation and a woman who is on her period receiving oral sex. If that isn’t your thing, then please hit the back button now.
> 
> The fic title is from the Editors’ song “Eat Raw Meat = Blood Drool” which is both tongue in cheek and also wonderfully fitting for this ship.

Jane Harker’s Journal

The Castle.

June 5th.

My hand shakes as I commit these words to paper. I almost dare not write them at all, but there is an urgency in me to tell someone about the events which have recently transpired and I have no one but this journal with whom to confide. I am nauseous at the thought of writing to my beloved Minos about this matter, even if I believed my letters to him which the Countess bids me to write were truly being posted which I do not. The shame of it and what he would surely think of me are too horrible to bare. The thought of confiding in the Countess herself about that which she has done to me sickens me even more, for what comfort might a monster give to the one who they have inflicted their monstrosity upon?

Therefore I will write in this journal so that I may purge these heinous memories out of my mind as one might need to be bled in order to rid themselves of poison and then I will destroy these pages so that no one may ever read them. If I am to die as I believe the Countess plans for me to do then I will take these memories with me to my grave and pray that God will forgive me for what has happened when I reach Him.

I have been the Countess’ prisoner for over a month now and I have yet to become acclimated to this state. She is a monster as I have written the details of in this journal time and time again in the previous days, but there are nights when it is almost possible for me to forget that fact such as when she and I are discussing Transylvanian history or business as though we are almost friends and not captor and captive, but the knowledge of what she truly is is never far from my thoughts. If anything, the ease with which the Countess is able to be genial, to behave as though she is a person and not a devil only makes her all the more monstrous. A demon should look like a demon and behave like one. There should be no mistake about what it is, no possible way to be confused about its nature or to think it a person for even a moment. A creature which is able to wear a mask of humanity so masterful that one can forget that it is only a mask is surely a thing crafted by Satan’s own hands and I am certain the devil has no greater creation than the likes of the Countess.

For all that I knew the Countess to be a monster, I did not fully anticipate the depths of her depravity before now. I knew her to be an inhuman thing and a murderer of the smallest of babes, but even this last month of captivity and all the horror I have witnessed in that time has not made me capable of truly realizing the evil that she is capable of. I hope that it is a mark of my own goodness as a person that such deeds as she has done did not occur to me and not one of naivete, but I find myself wishing they had so that I might have been prepared. I do not know how much good the foreknowledge would have done me, if any, and I doubt I would have been able to stop the Countess from doing as she willed even if I had known, but regardless I am still driven to nearly having a fever in my brain wondering if I might have been better off. I wonder it as I imagine men who are to be hanged wonder if they might not prefer their executions to be a surprise instead of something that they know full well about and have every second of every day waiting for. I wonder which is worse – knowing the thing will come and counting down the hours or having it take you by surprise?

My current state and the reason for this entry started with a surprise. That is, the surprise of my starting my courses which should not have been a surprise at all. To bleed is a part of every woman’s life and it has been a part of mine for years now, an event that has taken place every month since I was twelve for the span of a week and with a better sense of punctuality than even the most proper of gentlemen insist on. I should not have been surprised when I woke up the morning prior and found the sheets of the bed I have been sleeping in stained red, but I was. I can only place my lack of foresight on the situation I am in, though I still feel foolish for it. It is all too easy to lose track of time in this place even as I make a point of keeping up with the date and it was easy to explain the aches and nausea I felt in the days before as symptoms of stress. 

That it was almost time for my menses to come did not occur to me at all. It also did not occur to me to foresee any problems with the Countess as a result of this. I knew that she drank blood, of course, as I have seen her mouth slick red and shining with it on more occasions than I can stand to recall, but I did not think that the blood of my courses would be the same. I suppose I cannot fault myself for that as I do not know anyone who would be so perverse as to imagine a creature wanting to taste the blood that comes from between a woman’s legs. I know it is not fair of me to blame myself for my inability to imagine that very possibility and yet blame myself, I do. I also blame the Countess not only for what she did, but in opening my mind to the fact that such degeneracy is even possible even in a mind of a creature such as she.

After discovering the blood, I spent the day in discomfort. Though I have thankfully been spared most of the horrible maladies and other such malaise as other women I know suffer through during their courses, I have always been a heavy bleeder and have required the use of a T-bandage and many additional napkins in order to continue going about my business during that time of the month. Without such inventions, working would be impossible and though I am thankful to Mr. Hawkins for hiring me and have the greatest respect for him doing so in the first place when many other men would never consent to hiring a woman at all, I know that even he would not put up with an employee who required to take a week off out of every month. 

The problem was that I had exhausted the last of my supplies before coming to the Castle. I finished my last course shortly before I entered the carriage the Countess had sent for me and my own personal hell began and did not think I would be in the country for so long as to require buying more in Vienna. I had anticipated that I would be home, back in England with my lovely Minos, before my cycle was to return, but I could not possibly have anticipated the Countess holding me captive or how long my captivity would last. Because of that, yesterday I was without any of the resources I usually used to stem the flow of my blood. I was forced to take a dress I had packed with me and bunch it up between my legs. It was uncomfortable and made moving nearly impossible. I mainly sat in the bed as still as I could be, awkwardly perched as the blood left me and soaked into the dress beneath, and consigned myself to days of such monotonous torture for the idea of asking the Countess for supplies was so foreign that I did not even consider it. 

The day crawled by at a snail’s pace. I was at turns bored over the lack of anything to do but sit and think and anxious over the thoughts that ran through my mind. I thought of Minos and wondered whether I would ever see his handsome face again. I wondered how long it would be after I didn’t come home to him before he accepted that I was not coming back at all and what he would think the reason for my absence was. Would he look for me? Would he think I left him? How long would it take before he began to believe that I was dead and he started courting another woman? How long before he married her? I wondered when the Countess would kill me and how she would do it when the time came. I wondered what the papers back home would report of my disappearance. I wondered if my body would ever be found.

Terrible thoughts, all of them. Maudlin and maddening. But as the sun began to lower in the sky, my thoughts began to turn not to the near or distant future, but to that which was more immediate. I began thinking of what would happen that night when the Countess arose from her unholy rest. I began to dread the approaching sunset and the presence of that creature which would come with it. Some nights the Countess leaves me alone, but those nights are few and far between and last night was not one of them, but God! How I wish it were! The Countess likes to have me at her dinner table. She likes to feed me and watch me eat. She likes to speak to me as though we are friends and touch me as though we are the closest of companions. In my more empathetic moments I sometimes wonder if the Countess has been alone for a very long time and genuinely enjoys my company for the sheer novelty of it, but I can cast the thought aside easily enough by remembering that she is not a thing to be empathized with. That she is, in fact, a thing. Not a woman. Never a woman. Not a human of any kind. Last night, I did not dare to assume that she would forgo my company and she did not, but I was not prepared for what her visit would entail. 

The sun had set and I was forced to stand from my position on the bed as I did not want the Countess to catch me so indisposed. I grimaced when I stood and felt that familiar cold dripping feeling inside of me of gravity allowing the blood to slide out of my womb. I shuffled awkwardly to the chamber pot, my soiled dress still held between my thighs. I only removed the garment once I was there and in such a position that I knew my blood would not spill on the floor. I relieved myself and allowed what blood wanted to leave me to fall. It was a disgusting feeling, it always is, and no matter how much effort I expended in trying to wipe my privates clean afterwards, I felt like I could never dry the blood from it completely. I felt then, as I always do during my courses, that I would never be clean again.

I took the bloody dress I had used and determined that not only was it ruined, but it was too soaked for me to bother trying to use it again. I folded it and only realized how foolish it was for me to do so after I was already done – why, after all, fold a garment that was only suited to be disposed? But I had only a limited number of dresses with me and the days of my menses I had left outnumbered them. I did not want to ruin them all and if I could possibly escape the Castle, which I still hoped then and now even more desperately hope now I will be able to do, I would not want to do so wearing a dress stained with blood. I feared that no one would help me if they caught me in such attire, not in such a place where strangers are seen as suspect for the mere fact of being foreign already. I determined I would let the soiled dress dry and use another, switching them out until my cycle was done. I put the wet folded thing on the end of the bed and was going through my trunk again looking for another dress to use when the Countess arrived. 

The sound of the door being unlocked preceded her for although the Countess could move without making a noise, the locks of old buildings were not capable. The sound of metal scraping on metal had me pausing in my task, my heartbeat jumping in my throat and a cold sweat breaking out over my body. The hair on the nape of my neck stood on end as I listened to the key being turned and the door was unlocked. I both heard and saw the knob twisting, and the door creaked as it slowly swung open and the Countess Dracula was revealed to me. 

I noticed that she had a peculiar look on her face from the moment I saw her. It reminded me of the expression she had when she had walked in on me shaving that space between my brows where I did not like hair to grow, but where it insisted on doing so despite my wishes. I had cut myself and her eyes went dark, her nostrils flared, and she had swiped her thumb against my stinging skin and liked the blood she gathered from it as though she were in rapture at its very taste. 

The Countess looked very much like that as I looked at her in the doorway. Her eyes were dark again and her nostrils were flaring. She stared at me with probing insistence and licked her lips. I shivered and barely restrained myself from taking an instinctive step back.

“Good evening,” I greeted her stiffly.

The Countess said nothing and this, too, made me nervous for the Countess was all about manners and pleasantries or, at least, the appearance of having them. She only stepped further into the room, her footsteps silent, her pace languid and my body frozen as she came towards me, but rather than coming to the side of the bed where I stood, she stopped at the end of it and looked down at the folded, bloody dress I had placed there. I felt warmth pooling in my cheeks in embarrassment at the fact that she saw it and that warmth began to burn when the Countess calmly picked the dress up and slowly brought it to her face. Her nostrils flared again when it was just inches from her nose and then, to my horror, she pressed her face against it. 

Her inhalation was so audible that a scream could not have been louder and oh, how I wanted to scream then! The sound was nails on a chalkboard, as gruesome to me as the sound of that child crying and its mother outside begging for it to be returned were what seemed like so long ago, as gruesome as the wolves howling at night and any number of other awful noises. The sight of my blood stained dress pressed to the Countess’ face was perverse. It disgusted me. When she pulled it away after what felt like a lifetime, her eyes were pitch black and her corpse white mouth and cheeks were pink from the blood that had transferred there. I felt a wave of nausea roil over me and I thought I would be sick right then and there.

“You are bleeding,” she said, and I shuddered at the thick hunger and want I could hear in her voice. 

The Countess noticed and licked her lips again, this time tasting my blood that was on them. Her eyelids fluttered shut at the first swipe of her tongue on them and her head went back and she moaned, loud and guttural, her own body shuddering even more violently than did my own. This sound sickened me even more than that of her inhaling my bloody dress did, but my sickness was forgotten in favor of fear when the Countess opened her eyes. 

She smiled at me then as she looked at me, a great and terrible smile that showed two rows of white teeth and two of them at the top elongated like a snake’s fangs, much sharper than all the rest. I only had but a moment for the terror to strike me as a bolt of lightening might and no time at all to consider running for my life before the Countess dropped the bloody dress and came at me faster than humanly possible. I found my body flying back, my back hitting the mattress of the bed with such force that it was painful, and the Countess was on top of me. 

I began to scream immediately and jerk and fight, but it was no use. The Countess was too strong and my struggles were no more efficient than those of a babe’s would be against a large man. Nothing I did could stop her from gripping the dress I wore by the chest and ripping it down, exposing my breasts to her sight and allowing her to see how my nipples hardened at the cold air in the room. I was too terrorized to feel humiliation in the moment and the Countess was not done for she did not stop at all exposing my chest but ripped my dress all the way down. The strength she held was more effective than a pair of shears would be and it took only seconds before my dress was gone and thrown somewhere and I was nude entirely. I still struggled, but I had exerted myself too much too quickly and my struggles had thus weakened. My screams had turned to sobs, crying through a sore throat. I think I said no, I think I begged her to stop, but truthfully I cannot remember. It is like all the noise from that moment was replaced by a buzzing in my ears, a silence that was loaded with sound.

What I do remember is this: the look on the Countess’ face as she gazed at me, the sharpness of her fangs and the desire so blatant in her expression as she looked down at my most private place where I still felt filthy and where I could still feel the blood leaking out of me. I remember the feeling of her hands, so strong, stronger than a man’s, as they went to my thighs and jerked them apart with force and how I tried to close them again but I could not even get them to budge. I remember the feeling of her fingernails like claws digging into the meat of my thighs and the sting of them as they pierced me.

And I remember the moment she bent her head down and I felt the first swipe of her tongue against me. 

My whole body flinched at the swipe of her wet appendage that brushed against my privates from bottom to top, the touch almost gentle but so alien to me that a knife in my chest would have felt like less. My throat was tight with panic and fear and disgust, but I managed to scream again. I am sure that I said no then, too. I am sure that I begged her to stop. I am sure, also, that she did not listen or even acknowledge my protests, not even to deny them. 

The Countess only moaned at the taste of me and the second touch of her tongue was not so gentle. It was rough against me, demanding, not content to just lick at the outer parts of my womanhood but to plunge into my very core, thrusting into it with ferocity and twisting inside of me. I could do nothing but sob and take it, squirming against the grip of the cold hands that held me down as she penetrated me, as she dragged her tongue around inside of me and sucked at me like she was trying to extract as much of my woman’s blood out of me as she could. I tried to push the Countess’ head away with my own hands, but I felt the sharp nip of her fangs against my folds and flinched. My hands jerked away and curled up into fists, held useless at my sides. I did not try to push the Countess off again for I knew a warning when I felt one and as little as I wanted what the Countess was doing to me with her mouth, I wanted those sharp teeth sinking into the soft, delicate flesh between my legs even less.

The Countess devoured me. She gorged on me the way a starving man would gorge himself at a feast or a drunk my gorge himself on a bottle of wine. She was gluttonous and as she tongued me and I cried and shuddered, I began to feel a curious pressure building up inside of me where the Countess’ mouth was. I felt like I was swelling. I felt like I was aching and throbbing. The feeling was unbearable, but it continued to build and to my horror and humiliation, my hips began to jerk up into the motions of the Countess’ tongue probing inside of me as though it was chasing her, as though it wanted more of her. I feel sick as I write of it now and deeply ashamed, but in that moment I felt as though I was adding to that aching pressure that was building within my center and that I would die if I did not chase it to whatever completion it would lead to. 

When that completion came, it took me by more surprise than anything ever had in my life. It was as if something burst inside of me, as though the pressure building within me had reached some precipice and jumped suicidally off a cliff into some dark waters beneath. My body arched and I moaned, long and loud, and tears fell down my cheeks and I did not know anymore why I was crying. It was pleasure and it was agony and it was over after a time that felt like it was both far too long and far too soon.

And still the Countess did not stop. 

She continued licking at me, her tongue continuing to plunder me, and whatever sinful pleasure I might have felt gave way to discomfort. My privates felt oversensitive and every move of the Countess’ tongue in my body was torture. I jerked against her and squirmed. I sobbed and made other sounds of discomfort, noises that would have been more natural coming from a wounded animal than a woman. But even as I prayed for the Countess to stop, I could feel that pressure building in me once more and much faster this time. It was only a matter of seconds before my body was once more flinching and arching as I cried out, reaching that feeling of completion again which lasted for barely a blink of an eye.

And yet the Countess continued.

She had apparently licked out all the blood she could with her tongue alone, but she was still not satisfied. Her tongue came out and her fingers pressed into me, two of them forcing themselves in and I was so wet with what I can only assume was blood that I opened for her without any resistance. I felt humiliated about that at the time and even more so now in the cold light of the day after that I realize that if I ever make it out of the Castle and live to see my wedding night, my beloved Minos will not be the first to breach me as a man is meant to do with his wife. He will be the first man, but not the first. 

I’m ashamed that at the time I had no thoughts of Minos at all, but only of myself and the Countess and what she was doing to me. 

Her fingers were foreign in me, twisting and dragging. I could feel myself clenching around those fingers against my will, only making their presence within me all the more vivid. I could feel the scrape of sharp nails at the ends of them in the deepest part of me, painful against the tender flesh of my womanhood, and I hated it. I felt like I was being violated. I felt as though I were being mauled by some kind of animal and yet I had no strength to fight back. My body was boneless and limp. My hands were clinched in the sheets. I was covered in sweat and my heart pounded in my chest with rapid insistence and I felt hot all over and dirty and ill. I felt like I was dying and I felt that I was already dead, all of me gone to hell save for the part of me that the Countess was paying such horrible attentions to.

Her fingers moved in me like they were searching for something and trying to pull it out and I knew that what they searched for was blood. The Countess would drag them in me and then pull them out, popping them into her mouth to suck them clean like a greedy child might do with a jar of jam before her tongue was on me again. In me again. 

That pressure built within me several more times and each time was more uncomfortable than the last. At a certain point, they turned painful. Later still, my privates began to numb and all I could feel was an ache so strong that I could not even feel the Countess’ tongue past the bulwark of it. My head became heavy. My mind began to go quiet. I began to lose awareness of everything, somehow falling into a state where I felt as though I was asleep and yet I was still awake, but I could remember very little of that time other than the fact of my own wakefulness.

I do not know how long that demon tortured me. I do not know what all she did. Some parts of last night are so vivid I think they will be the last things I remember even on my deathbed and some are gone entirely, like entire pieces of time have simply been cut out of my memory. I do know that eventually the Countess did stop. I have a vague memory of her doing so, of her dropping her hands from my thighs and pulling away from me. I imagine in my mind now her pale face from her lips to her cheeks to that aquiline nose of hers all pink from my blood, but I do not know if that is only my imagination now after the fact which supplies the picture or if it is a true memory. I likewise remember the look on her face, sated and pleased, but again I do not know if this is real or if it is my mind filling in the blanks of how I assume that monster must have reacted.

But she did leave. That, I know. I know that one moment she was simply gone from the room and I was aware of it. I do not know how long she had been gone or how long she had been with me for that matter, but the room was empty and I was alone within it at last. I laid on the bed in a daze, my body so weak and aching that I barely possessed enough strength to close my legs which were still spread how the Countess had put them and curl up into a ball on my side. The numbness in the center of me did not last for long and eventually gave way to a truer sense of pain the likes of which felt the same as some women I know describe the after effects of childbirth to feel like. My thighs ached along with them and felt very strained and they still feel that way now, even a day later. 

I laid that way for quite awhile, curled up like a child, in pain and shivering and too lost to even try to get myself under the covers so that at least I might be warm. And still I bled. I could feel the blood leaking out of me, my center so wet with it that I wanted to sob but my throat hurt too and I felt like all my tears were spent. Every time I shifted even the slightest bit I could feel the blood inside of me and I could feel it as it escaped me. I could not be bothered to care. It felt filthy, but there was a new filthiness in me then that felt marrow deep and that I knew would not wash away so easily as blood would.

I must have fallen asleep, but I do not know when. I just remember that one moment the room was dark of all but the lantern light and then the next the sun was shining outside my window, but not even the sunrise could provoke me into moving. It was only when the demands of my bladder made themselves known that I finally forced myself to get up and take care of it. Blood ran rivulets down my thighs when I stood and my legs felt as wobbly as a babe’s as I walked. My privates burned when I used the chamber pot and burned worse when I was done.

All my actions today have been done mechanically and without feeling. After using the chamber pot, I used a cloth and some water to clean myself as best as I could. I managed to get into a dress. I even managed to use another dress to put between my legs so that I would not bleed all over myself. I sat today, as I did yesterday before the Countess came, as still as a statue. Awkward and unmoving and bleeding beneath myself. I sat for a long time thinking of nothing, doing nothing, feeling nothing, and then without cause I began to cry. I shook silently at first, my tears quiet but for the occasional sob, and my throat was in so much pain that I did not think I would ever be able to speak again. But then I began to wail and then scream. There were no words to these noises, but just the sounds themselves. Loud and horrible and terrible things.

I calmed eventually and felt exhausted. My eyes were sore and my throat felt no better, but I felt as though I had purged myself of something. There was a sickness inside of me that the Countess put there last night and screaming was but a single dose of treatment for it. It did not cure me. I can feel the sickness in me even now. I can feel my mind wanting to shut down, my body wanting to curl up like a child again and simply stay that way this time. I do not know how to fight this disease. I am terrified I will succumb to it and I do not even know what succumbing to this might ean.

My mind has played the events of last night over and over again without end. I think of them and feel myself gagging. I think of them and feel myself burning with shame at my own behavior. I think of Minos and know I would rather die than have him ever know what happened. The very thought of him knowing...God, but I would end my own life before I allowed it!

I began this entry hoping that writing what has happened down might help, but I find that all it has done is make me relive last night over again. I write of the Countess’ mouth on me and I shudder to recall it. I write of my worry for Minos and my shame is amplified. However, the worst part is not even what happened last night but what will happen going forward. What will happen tonight? 

When I sat down to write this entry, the sun was still visible in the sky but now I look outside and it is darkening. I can see only the scantest orange glow low to the ground and descending further, soon to be gone entirely. The moon is visible and I am still bleeding. I will continue to bleed for days longer. I remember the sated look on the Countess’ face when she released me and I think I am sure now that it was real and not just my imagination. She enjoyed what she did to me. She enjoyed tasting me and drinking the blood from my very core. I am terrified that she will return to me tonight and do what she did all over again. I am all the more afraid because I know that such a thing isn’t just a possibility but is almost a certainty. 

Outside, the wolves have begun to howl but their ‘music’ is not enough to drown out the sound of my pounding heartbeat. I imagine that I hear footsteps every few moments and my heart thumps harder, painfully, and I wait in anticipation even as I know that the Countess moves quietly enough to not be heard. I know that I will only be warned of her arrival by the sound of metal on metal as the key to this room slides into the lock on the door. 

I pray I do not hear that sound. I pray and I pray and I pray. I pray to God that I die here and now before I ever have to see the Countess again.


End file.
